Traveling Business Man Blues
(Tune of Folsom Prison Blues)
I hear the whistle blowing as I see the train go around the bend. It has been so long since I have been home I don’t even remember when. I’m stuck in my man made prison working every day, while my lady and my kids play. My wife likes to drive her BMW while my kids have all the latest high-tech- gear. I saw the pictures on Facebook because I have not seen my family in well over a year. My father always said son be a good provider while mother pleaded me not to forget to be a good family man. The airport lost my luggage again it got stuck in Reno while I am here in LA. At night, I get so lonely while in my motel room I sit alone and silently cry. Maybe this is normal for the life I’ve chosen of being a traveling business man. Yet every time I hear the whistle blowing I have thoughts of home.
I get to thinking do my wife and children miss me as they eat their meals? The times passes so quickly, I fear my youngest will be full grown by the next time I return home. I have an inner struggle between work and family and it tortures me inside. I wish to be free from this prison, it was too easily to get ****** in. In this lonely life, I am living it is hard not to get the blues. I would trade a thousand dollars just to be the one to tuck my youngest daughter into bed and kiss her cheek and tell her good night in person. I am stuck working yet again to close yet another big deal. Instead, of another high priced meal with a client. I would trade it in for a home cooked meal with my family even just once more. The money was nice at first but each day it is costing me so much more. I seem to be drifting farther away from my family with each passing day. I wonder does my family still love me now that they barely see me or just love the money I’ve sent home. I hear the whistle blowing and I wonder if I would die tomorrow how would my epitaph read? Here lies a family man, or more accurately here lies an absent father imprisoned by greed.
I am in no way a match for Johnny Cash, I am only a poet and student with barely any cash. This is a work of fiction not based on any person. I heard someone sing Folson Prison Blues, over my break from school and my imagination started wandering as evidenced here. I hope you like it anyway.